


Home

by lasirene



Series: Broken Parts [2]
Category: X-Men - All Media Types
Genre: Fluff and Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-23
Updated: 2016-11-23
Packaged: 2018-09-01 19:11:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 11,788
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8634601
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lasirene/pseuds/lasirene
Summary: "Home is not always a place."





	1. I

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, so this took a lot longer to write than I was expecting. It also turned out a lot longer so it's broken up into two 'chapters', so to speak. And, not really surprising given that it's Remy and Logan, sex happened. The number of times I've written a sex scene I could count on one hand, so I'm sorry if it's awful, but I can sincerely say that I tried.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Remy tries to adjust to life back with the X-Men . . . and the threat of feeling.

            Some things were painful in their difference, but some were precise in their sameness.  The feeling of crashing to the floor with three hundred pounds pinning him in place was one such thing.

            What was different was the way the hand splayed, the near kiss of razor sharp claws flirting at his neck.  The smirk that was as devilish as his own, the gold-jade-bronze gleam of eyes that had ideas they were loath to share just yet.

            The rasp of scruff against the shell of his ear was enough to make him grit his teeth down on self-restraint.  The voice, more a purr than anything, made his eyes want to roll back.

            “Just to make this official:  bang – you’re dead.”

            Gambit laughed, hoarse and startled out of him.  “T’ink a your own damn lines, Logan,” he murmured, tracing his hands up the warm, leathery bodysuit – brazen enough to give the zipper at his throat a little graze of thoughtful touch.  “Now, ya gon’ let dis dead man up ‘fore Cyke gets yellin’ at ya fo’ bein’ inappropriate?”

            The claws retracted with a slight sound.  Remy could feel the feral shifting his weight; the increase in pressure of the hand splayed almost over his heart, the closer presence of all that heavy warmth.  He didn’t let himself consider what Logan would think, he just reached up and wrapped his arms around his shoulders, tugging and coaxing him down closer.  Maybe – finally –

            There was the distinct sound of a sound projection system being abused, a high and piercing note that had Logan flinching.  Then Scott’s voice, snapping and impatient.

            “Will the two of you _please_ take this to another place?  We’re on a schedule here.”

            Logan raised his eyes, even if he couldn’t see the man, and smirked to himself.  “You’re just jealous that Jean never pins you t’the floor like this.”

            “Logan!  I said get a move on!”

            Logan rolled his eyes, but stood, holding out one gloved hand to Remy.  The Cajun took hold, boosting himself up as Logan tugged.  He practically flew onto his feet, as thrilling a feeling as ever.

            The simulated scene – a dark and deep forest that Logan, mere moments ago, had been hunting him through – flickered and faded to sharp and cold tiles.  Logan threw a glare up at the control room, raised a fist and popped out his middle claw before stalking out.  Remy found a laugh bubbling up his throat as he followed the feral out, happy in a way he had not been for most of the year and months since that day.

            Remy stepped out of the danger room, shoved off the headgear he wore and shook out his hair.  His long fingers raked the auburn strands back, and he froze as he saw her coming.

            Rogue.  Beautiful, stunning Rogue.  Before, seeing her coming towards him would make his heart give a jump, and some line of flirtation would have come to him, even something as simple as a compliment.

            Now his heartrate jerked up a notch, his knees locked, his hands itched to arm himself and his feet screamed to take him somewhere away.  A shiver coursed down his spine, and for a moment he had a sense of vertigo as he remembered everything he wanted so badly to just forget.

            _“Home?  You ain’t got no home, sugah.  Not with me, not the X-Men.  Fend for yourself.  You seem to have done a good job of that in the past.”_

_“But . . . I love you.”_

_“You’re honest with the people you love, Gambit.  Otherwise it’s a gamble.”_

She skirted around him, so absorbed in talking with Iceman that she didn’t even see him.  He held his breath until the door closed behind her, chopping off the laugh that he knew meant she was flirting.  Only when they were separated did he let out a shaking sigh.

            Straightened his hair again.  Turned back on course to the locker room.

            Saw Logan turning away from him, with a strange look flashing in his eye.

            Some things were painfully different.

***

            The chill of Antarctica still haunted his bones sometimes.  Even in the dead of summer, he had been washed with a sense of cold.  He could see the icy wastes in the eyes of the other X-Men, feel the bitter cold winds in their words.

            If he was honest with himself, he had taken some of the ice with him, inside his body.  His heart had frozen, trapped itself in a thick wall that he had been sure would never melt.  The warmth of summer had done nothing to thaw it, and when fall had crept in, closely followed by winter, Remy had resigned himself to the truth that he would never be warm again.  In the summer, he could maybe be somewhat comfortable, but until then . . . well, to put it lightly, he was fucked.

            Shivering as he threw on layer after layer in the chill of morning, Remy considered the day ahead. It would be cold, bitterly so at that.  Even with multiple layers and a high necked sweater and his ever present trench coat, he was still shivering.  He had always been sensitive to the cold, built for the heat and humidity of the deep South, not the sharp cold of northern climes.  But since Antarctica had left pieces of itself in him, he could barely survive it.  The fall had been Hell brought to earth, and the winter that was starting would only worsen from where it was already.

            A blanket, he decided as he ducked out of his room and set a course for the kitchen and breakfast.  He needed a very large, very thick blanket.  And a fire.  Maybe he could convince Logan to make some hot chocolate . . .  No one made it like the Canadian.  Logan couldn’t cook to save his life, or anyone else’s for that matter, but something about the way he made hot chocolate was magical.  Probably had to do with the fact that he actually melted a huge pound bar of Hershey’s chocolate and put it in milk.  It was so much richer than mere chocolate powder.  And if the Canadian had a mind to put in a touch of maple syrup, or cinnamon, or chocolate chips and baby marshmallows, Remy would certainly not complain.

            Oh yes, he definitely would have to find the man.  Even if he had to beg.  And Remy certainly was not of the begging breed.

            In a slightly finer mood, he ducked into the kitchen to start cooking.  He stopped in the doorway, mouth slightly agape at the barely awake figure slumped at the island counter, and the pot on the stove.

            Remy crept forward, tapping with utmost caution at the broad shoulder.  “Logan?” he asked softly.  “Hey . . . Logan, ya awake?”

            There was a grumble of sound in reply, and Logan lifted his head from the crook of his arm, only enough to peer at Remy with a barely open eye.

            “Whatcha doin’ here, cher?  You’re dead tired.” Remy asked as he looked around.  There was a large piece of crumpled wrapper near his elbow, discarded and forgotten.

            The muscles of his shoulders shifted as Logan pushed himself up and rubbed at his eyes.  “It’s cold,” he said, in that familiar and matter of fact fashion that Remy knew meant the Canadian thought the weather was just fine; lucky bastard.  “Figured I should whip up a treat for everyone and get the fires goin’.”

            “You didn’t,” Remy whispered, even as a grin of delight – childish and wondering delight – broke across his face.  “Say it ain’t so!”

            “It is so,” Logan replied, leaning back in his seat until it was tipped back on two legs.  “Hot chocolate, and you get the first test.”

            “I–”  Remy choked off into startled silence, curling a hand around the words that thrummed in his throat.  They couldn’t be true, they simply couldn’t.  And yet . . .

            “Whatcha want for breakfast?” he said instead, blurting the words out and paving them with his usual tone and demeanor.  “Least I can do.”

            “Anything,” Logan replied; he was smiling, gentler than he ever had been.  “I missed you.”

            Remy laughed, pacing backwards a few steps, knowing Logan was observing the grin that always followed that declaration.  He turned away, shaking his head, auburn sheaves of hair swaying with the movement.  “Gonna be two years in a few months, Logan.  Ya don’t gotta keep sayin’ dat.”

            “But it’s true,” he replied; there was no humor now, but a deadly sobriety.  “I did miss you.  I–”

            “Don’t,” Remy urged as he pulled out a few pans.  “Please.  It’s over.  We’re all right.”

            Logan didn’t offer up a reply.  But Remy could feel it, his concern, his question, pushing against the shields he put on his empathy.  _Are you?  Are you really?_

***

            The world was changing.

            Not in the visual sense, though it certainly was.  The snow was falling with more regularity; the world was whitening in that way that was terrifying now, instead of beautiful.  He could see all of that, but that was not the change that concerned him this year.  He did not obsessively stare out the window, shivering violently from head to toe.

            He stared inside himself, and trembled instead.

            It was no small wonder Logan had become so central to his life.  The man was one of a small number that gave the Thief even a modicum of trust.  He was always there when Remy needed someone, anyone.  Logan acted like nothing had happened, like Gambit had taken just a long job or vacation and come back – except for the way his face lit up and opened at a first glimpse of the Cajun, and the way he turned towards him with every sense focused on the man before him, and the way he smiled and the way he laughed, and the way sometimes he still whispered in a voice full of wonder and awe, “I missed you.”

            _I missed you_.  Even those words made Remy shiver in ways that were not from the cold.

            He was not in love.  His heart was frozen to its core; the ice left no room for love in his heart anymore.  He would not let himself trust so blindly ever again.  Even if the man in question had his back come Hell or high water, even if he wanted to love him, wanted it more than he could bear.  Remy LeBeau was not in love.

            And yet . . .

            When had he first lain in bed, staring at the ceiling and sighing every few moments in near silence, unable to sleep for thoughts of Logan?  When had his days risen and fallen to match the times he was with or apart from the feral?  When had he come to live and breathe for the moments he snared with him?  When had he come to silently count the heartbeats, the breaths, the agonizing seconds between those moments?

            He was not, could not, be in love.  To love was to die, and he would not die again.

            He had promised Logan he would not die again.  It was a promise he would keep.

***

            He woke, huddled in a ball, shivering violently under the sheets.  Everything on him was numb with cold, and his face and the pillow were damp with tears.  He hooked his fingers in the blankets and heaved them higher up so he was tucked up to his chin.

            He had had nightmares before, but now . . .

            He could not bear to close his eyes, for fear of returning once more to that frozen wasteland.  The blind, glaring, furious white of miles and miles of endless ice, with no warmth and no shelter, nothing but horror upon horror as he walked and walked and walked and walked and

            With a violent shudder, he twisted upright, shoving the covers down to his waist.  The cool air bit through the thin fabric of his shirt, but he could not bear to lie there any longer.  Rogue had poured burning poison in him when she left him there on the ice, and though he had not felt it at first, and did not always feel it, tonight it had come with a vengeance.  If he laid there long enough, it would finally corrode him entirely.  Kill him, even.  He had to get up, he had to move, he had to _run_ –

            “Where are you going?”

            Remy jumped – jerked was more like it – and brought his head up.  The shadows were thick, but his mutation gave him some level of night vision.  It was difficult, to pinpoint the location of his quarry, but he knew the voice anyway.

            “How’d ya get in here?” Remy rasped as he finally settled his gaze on the dark figure leaning against the wall.  “Got ‘bout a hundred diffe’nt locks on de fuckin door.”

            “I’ve broken and entered enough places,” Logan replied as he pushed off the wall, ducking through the thin shafts of silver light that swam through the shades drawn over the window.  “This takes the cake, but it’s amazin’ what a stubborn man can do.”  He stopped by the bedside, folding his arms over his chest.  “Y’alright?”

            The question fell gruff and sharp, but Remy did not need to be an empath to still see and feel the concern his friend held.  He dragged his eyes up to Logan’s, trying to ignore the sculpted shadows and highlights of the powerful torso and arms and tried to just focus on the simple fact that Logan was there, that Logan cared, that he had bothered to come and check.

            The concern was so abrupt that even with his shields in place, Remy could feel it.  He flinched, dropping his head and shaking his hair into his face, hoping that Logan hadn’t seen the tears that were now starting to spill out of his eyes.

            The bed gave a disgruntled sigh as Logan collapsed beside him.  There was only a slight second of hesitation before one arm slung itself across Remy’s shoulders and pulled him close.  The Thief twisted, struggled, surrendered, collapsed.  Everything was so cold, and Logan was so warm, and Remy was so lost and broken.  He did not have the strength to sob, nor to stop the tears that ran down his face.  He was tired of pretending that he was all right.

            He was not all right.  He was frozen and jagged and raw.  Parts of him were broken, to a point that he did not know how to repair.

            But there was Logan, and though the man was jagged and raw and broken in his own places, he had what Remy craved.  He was warm.

            And maybe, just maybe, they could find a way to fit their jagged and raw and broken parts together.  If he could ever work up the courage to make any sort of move.

            Logan’s arm tightened around him, effectively rousing Remy’s attention.  He dashed the tears from his face with a brisk swipe of a palm before leaning back enough to look at Logan.  It was unsurprising to see that his one eyebrow had hitched up in the familiar expression of inquiry.

            “Y’wanna try sleepin’ again?  Or would y’rather have a drink?”

            Remy shrugged, shifting as far as the heavy arm would allow him.  “Remy’ll be fine wit’ either a dose.  Didn’ mean ta wake ya up . . .”

            “Was already awake,” Logan grunted in reply.  “There’s nothin’ t’feel bad about.”

            “Still–”

            “Hush. Sleep or drink?”

            Remy grimaced slightly, lifting his eyes to Logan’s.  They had gone dark in the depths of the night, a brown thick enough to look almost black in the heavy caress of shadows.  His best friend.  Damn near his only friend these days.  Logan would listen.  And Remy would speak, or he would burst with the poison that had come to fill him.

            “Tired of bein’ alone, me,” Remy whispered.  His voice had taken on a rough, rasping quality that he could just barely remember hearing on the ice, when he had talked to himself to try and keep the waves of insanity from crashing over him.  “It’s worst, when dere ain’t no one aroun’ an’ he’s pretendin’ ta be all right.  Remy can handle de pain, he been handlin’ de pain jus’ fine merci beaucoup, but he ain’t got much mo’ fight left against dese nightmares.  Ain’t not’in’ like ‘em dat he ever seen.”

            “Rems–?”

            “And ya know what else?”  Now he was sounding strangled, his throat starting to clamp shut as the words started pouring out.  “Everyone t’ink Remy’s jus’ fine, but he ain’t, not really.  Sometimes he don’t know how in de Hell he gets outta dis room.  And den he remembers.  And dat one lil reason’s de only reason he ain’t given up.”

            “Remy, Jesus–”

            “ _Stay with me_.”  His fingers dug into the thick muscles of Logan’s shoulders, and though he met his eyes, he fought to ignore the shock dancing just under the surface of the darkness there.  The charming accent was gone, buried under thick desperation.  “Please.  I can’t do this anymore.  I can’t take one more nightmare of that ice, all that white ice, and there’s no one there and I’m as good as mad, please Logan I’m _begging you_ –”

            “I will.  You don’t have to beg, I’m right here.”

            Remy took in a shivering breath, dropping his gaze hurriedly.  Too much, he’d said too much, far too much.  “I’m sorry.  I . . . I’m sorry.”

            Logan leaned back, squirming until he was more laying than sitting, and tugged on Remy’s shoulders.  “Go to sleep.  I’ll be right here.”

            “Must t’ink Remy’s stupid,” Gambit whispered as he curled up beside him.  “Dat he’s weak.  Stupid stupid stupid.”

            “No, Rems.  You’re not stupid.  You’re just scared.”  Logan’s fingers ran through his hair, dragging hard enough that Remy found his head tipping back suddenly.  “I don’t sleep well either, y’might remember.”

            His mouth quirked in a wry expression as he tried, and quickly gave up, counting the number of times Logan’s nightmares had woken him like a slap to the face.  “Oui.  Lil hard ta forget dat, cher.”

            “So go t’sleep.  You’ll be all right.”  Strong fingers curled in his, and Remy’s hand clamped shut on Logan’s as tight as he could hold.  “I’m right here,” Logan whispered.  “You’ve got nothin’ t’fear.  Nothin’s gonna get you.”

            For a moment, the horror of closing his eyes reared up and shrieked through every cavernous space inside of himself.  Then those fingers ran back through his hair, dragged over his scalp.  The exhaustion hit him like a ton of bricks, so heavy on his shoulders that his body went slack and he collapsed against Logan.  All the pieces of him that were still intact gave in to the comfort of a warm body, a person he could trust.

            And as he closed his eyes and surrendered hopelessly to sleep, he saw in a hazy vision of weariness, a vast glacier that was starting to drip.

***

            Maybe it was strange to slip away so early, especially since it was his own room.  But the feeling of how nice it was to wake up wrapped around someone . . . Remy had to get away.  If he had stayed there much longer, he would never leave.  And then it would all be ruined.

            He couldn’t lose him.  He couldn’t afford to lose him.

            He was breathing hard as he threw himself through his paces, sweat pouring out of him. Even in the heat of the moment, he could not shed his coat; he had tried and nearly broken down into the worst case of shivers he had ever experienced.  The coat was as much a source of security as Logan was.

            The music that he had put on as background noise – so loud and deep that his ears _shook_ with it – gave a sudden hitch, then snapped into silence.  The immaculate spin through the air he had been in the midst of executing fell apart on the landing.  He threw a wild look around, ragged rasps of breath sawing through his throat until he found him.  And of course it was Logan, he’d been an idiot to think he could slip away unnoticed.  Even if he had managed at least an hour undetected, he should have expected Logan to come find him.

            What he did not expect, what he can barely believe, was the whirlwind of feelings sweeping off the man as he stalked across the empty training space towards him.  There was anger, there was worry, there was relief buried somewhere in there, and there was something that Remy could taste like bile in his throat, something that doesn’t belong on Logan.

            Absorbed fully in untangling the mess of emotions swirling off the man, he found no time to duck aside.  Logan’s hand grabbed onto his arm in a vice that would leave a shrieking bruise in its wake.  He pulled, hard enough that Remy was pulled down slightly to lessen the difference of height he held against the feral.

            And Logan was feral, or damn near it; his eyes looked more gold than anything, lupine and wild and beautiful in a way that made the hair on his arms want to stand on end.  Instinct warned Remy to back away, to try and calm the man down from his wild state, but for once in his life, Remy LeBeau was speechless.

            “What the hell did you do that for?” Logan grated out, his voice as thick as gravel, sharp as glass, brittle as ancient bones.  “Why?!”

            “I–”

            “Answer me, dammit!”

            Remy’s fingers jerked shut around the rumpled shirt Logan was wearing.  His eyes flung wide, and a rattle of shocked breath bolted out of him.  He dropped his head, aware that he was trembling in the aftermath of the adrenaline he had built, trembling at the realization of that bizarre thing that Logan wore so strangely.

            Fear.  Logan was _afraid_.

            “Désolé désolé désolé,” he whispered, pulling Logan into him until the fists he had in his shirt forbid him to drag him in deeper.  “Didn’t mean ta upset ya, Remy jus’ needed ta go, he didn’t mean ta–”

            “To what?  T’bolt out and vanish on me?  T’make me wonder if maybe you got so scared you ran?”  Logan’s hand released his arm, but by no means was Gambit free; one heavy arm wrapped over his shoulder, the other around his waist, and Remy’s own arms slipped up and reached around those broad and familiar shoulders, grabbing onto the only anchor he had left in the world.

            “Don’t leave me again,” Logan whispered into his shoulder.  His voice was tiny, buried in the leathery material of his coat, whispered into his skin.

            Perhaps he had not meant for Remy to hear him.  But Remy heard, and he clung on all the tighter.  His arms were a promise, the thunder of his heart a solemn vow.  He would never leave him again.

***

            Home is not always a place.  Sometimes it is a feeling.  Belonging.  Safety.  A reason to smile.

            Home was not the school.  Home was not the X-Men.

            Home was not a place.

***

            “You have been very distracted as of late, brother.”

            “Got a lot on my mind, Stormy.”  Remy did not yet peel his gaze out of the window.  He was comfy, curled up in the window seat; the glass was cold against his forehead, but it was the only way he could watch easily.  He just had to be careful about his breathing.

            “So I have noticed.”  Ororo’s dark hand lighted on his shoulder, squeezed gently.  “Scott was wondering if you would want to join us for training tomorrow?”

            “Depends who ‘us’ be.”

            “Jean.  Scott.  Myself.”  A little pause; one of her fingers tapped on his shoulder.  “Logan.”

            Remy offered up a slight hum.  “Dat so?  Sounds like a fine ole time.  Ya won’ be needin’ Remy fo’ dat.”

            “And if we want you with us?”

            Remy shifted, sighed; he wiped the fog away from the glass immediately, eyes still locked on his quarry.  “Oh, Remy guess he could oblige dis once.”

            “Good,” Storm replied.  She leaned down, wrapping an arm around Remy’s shoulder to give him a hug.  He smiled to himself, returning the gesture.  Storm tilted her head, silver hair spilling around them as she kissed his cheek with the innocent affection that ran between them.

            “Perhaps if you would say something, you would not be sitting here wondering,” she said as she straightened.

            Remy turned away from the window, brows drawing together as he frowned.  “Pardon, padnat?”

            “I can see what you are seeing just as well,” she replied with a kind smile and a twinkle in her blue eyes.

            Remy dropped his gaze immediately, not sure if the blood was draining from his face or rushing up to it.  He stole a peek out the window, down to where Logan was a small shape amid all the fallen leaves.  Cutting wood, because it was supposed to snow the next few days, and what was winter without a fire every night?  Out there in old jeans and a flannel with an ax, splitting wood with precise, practiced movements, he looked every inch at home.  He looked happy.

            “Wish I didn’t feel it,” he said softly.  “Love an’ me . . . we don’ get along so well.”  There had been the whole disaster with marrying Belladonna, and the loss of his home in New Orleans.  Then, of course, there was Rogue, and his loss of his home with the X-Men.  A million failed attempts that had never even begun stood between those two women; attempts with women, attempts with men, he hadn’t cared so long as they made him feel something.  A man like him was not one that love was given to easily; he had learned that in his youth and had never forgotten.  Who could love a devil?

            Storm squeezed his shoulder again.  “That does not mean you should not go looking for it.  There is more to Logan than any of us know.”

            “So ya sayin’ I should flirt wit’ a man who, if he decides he don’ like it, could snap me in two over his knee?  Stormy, if I didn’t know ya better, I’d worry you was tryin’ ta get me killed.”

            “Funny,” the weather goddess replied with a wry chuckle.  “Perhaps you would do best to get yourself on familiar ground first.  Go out, enjoy yourself, have some bourbon and fleece some poor, ignorant fools of their money at a game of poker.”

            Remy smiled, just barely showing a hint of teeth.  “T’ink I might do dat.  You a good fille, Stormy.  What would ole Remy do wit’out ya?”

            “Mope around, it would seem,” she replied with a smile.  “It is always my pleasure, brother.  This life is a gamble, but I hope you win this round.”

            As she glided away from him, Remy turned to look back out the window, back down at Logan.  He could not help but hope the same.


	2. II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Remy takes a gamble; Logan loses.

            It was near midnight when Remy trotted down the stairs, bundled into his coat.  He walked fast enough to flip back the bottom of the coat, flashing glimpses of black boots that laced up nearly to his knees, tight fitted pants that clung to the strong muscle of his legs.  His head was held high, his eyes brighter than they had been since the ice.  Determination rang through every step as he strode up behind Logan, who had paused just before the door to the garage.

            “I’m comin’ wit’ ya.”

            Logan turned his head enough to glance at Remy.  The little pull of a smile brought one up to Remy’s mouth in turn.  Logan turned a little more towards him, jouncing a set of keys in his palm; Remy recognized them as belonging to the jeep.  Whether the jeep or the old Harley was more often used by Logan was debatable.

            “I was wonderin’ when you’d tag along again.  Harry’s all right by you?”

            “Cher, where de hell else we even go anymore?”

            “Good point.  I’m glad you’re comin’.  Ain’t quite so fun alone.”

            Remy couldn’t help but grin at the warm twist of pleasure that swarmed through him from head to toe.  “Ya mean dat?”

            “Course I do,” Logan grunted in reply as he shoved the door to the garage open.  “You’re my friend.”

            “An’ I’m de luckiest man in de whole world ta be your friend.”

            “Sweet talker,” Logan huffed out with a whisper of laughter as he walked over to the jeep.  He ran a quick eye over its body before deeming it still in fit shape.  “Get on in.  We’ll blast the heat the whole way.”

            “Like it’s a long drive,” Remy replied as he swung up.  There was laughter in his voice, though, laughter that was genuine.  There was no need to lie with Logan.

            Harry’s Hideaway was close; there would be no heat coming out of the car by the time they came to their destination, but that was all right.  The interior was balmy from living indoors, and that made it bearable.  The engine gave a coughing purr as it wound to life under Logan’s familiar hand, and Remy couldn’t help but laugh when Logan cranked the heat up to its highest setting.  The radio came next, and there was no surprise in it being on a classic rock station.

            A satisfied sigh slipped from Remy’s lips as they pulled away from the school.  It was nice, to get away from the hostile judging so many of the team members still thrust his way, and to be surrounded by the simple acceptance that Logan provided.  No judging.  No coldness.  No hostility.  Nothing was different.

            Except the way that Remy’s heart gave a jerking shudder when Logan ghosted a touch against him, the idle remark he made lost in a static buzz of desperate wanting.  He wanted more of that touch, wanted it more than anything.

            His heart was falling.  To love is to die, and oh how he was going to die.

***

            The barest hint of heat had crept through his thick boots and kissed his toes when the jeep crawled to a stop in the parking space and shut off.  The radio blared a second longer before Logan shut that off, too.  In the silence, the sound of the wind blowing around the car, and the sound chased shivers down Remy’s spine.

            “Rems?  You all right?”

            “Quoi?  Moi?  Oui, Remy’s fine.”  He curled a hand around the door handle, staring at the blissfully nearby building.  With his long stride, he could make it inside in less than ten steps.

            “Parked as close as I could.  Knew you wouldn’t wanna be out in the cold.”  There was a whisper of touch against his fingers, making Remy’s hand curl slightly in response.

            “Appreciate it, me.  Still gon’ be cold, t’ough.”

            “Sooner y’go, sooner y’get in, sooner it’s over.”

            Remy smiled slightly, starting to ease the door handle free.  “You’re right, cher.  Last one in buys de first drinks!”  He threw the door open and bolted free, coattails flapping as he scampered across the tarmac.  December was well under way, and in the sharp cold, little flurries of snow were dancing through the air.  Logan’s laughter chased him indoors, and as soon as Remy stepped into the warmth and light, he untied his coat and draped it open.

            The light touch at the small of his back had him turning, bright eyed and brilliant as his empathy picked up on the positive swell of emotions riling about in the bar.  He was almost too overjoyed by the feelings to miss the way Logan’s eyes darkened and dragged over him – almost, but not quite that high yet.  A chunk of ice tumbled away from his heart, and the organ slammed away at its cage madly, straining towards the man.  He was so close, close enough to reach out and take his face in his hands and pull him close and–

            “Ya owe me a drink now,” Remy said, his voice barely audible over the swell of conversation that hummed around them.  His fingers were itching, hungry and desperate for even a shred of contact.

            Logan remained quiet for a moment, his eyes still dark and shuttered tight enough that even Remy failed to read anything in them.  They finally lightened, some of the intensity bleeding out.  “Yeah.  A drink.  Bourbon, I assume?”

            “Ya assume correctly, cher,” Remy replied with a grin.  He rolled his shoulders back, letting his long trench coat drift further open.

            Had he dressed this way on purpose, the black silk shirt that turned the tan of his skin sharper and the copper of his hair brighter, the nearly skin tight pants, the boots that laced up almost to his knees?  Maybe.  He couldn’t be sure.  He had started putting them on with the intent of going out alone.  He had stayed in for the most part since returning to Antarctica, but there always came a time when he started to grow claustrophobic almost, desperate for new empathic input.  Somewhere along the line, though, he had lost the courage to face the cold of descending winter alone, and so he had gone after Logan.  And maybe he wanted Logan to look at him the way he had for a moment.  Maybe he could pretend that something would come of it.

            Logan pressed his hand against his back, and the touch was such a surprise that Remy arched his back a bit and widened his eyes. He let the other man steer him through the maze of tables over to the bar; he relished that press of contact, anchored himself deep in it.  He trusted Logan.  He would have followed the man anywhere.

            They sat down at almost the same exact spot they always sat at.  Remy slid his hand under the bar, searching with his fingers until he found the indentations of where Logan had once nearly tried to slice a man open for calling Kurt ‘mutie scum’; when he found the grooves and traced them, Remy couldn’t help but smile faintly.  Countless adventures were buried in the grain of the bar, all just a memory away.

            Their drinks were served up quickly; Remy with his bourbon, Logan with his whiskey.  Remy lifted his glass to the other man with a twinkle in his garnet eyes before knocking back a healthy portion of his drink.

            It burned, going down, but there was a divinity to it.  He shivered to himself when it hit his stomach, and set his glass back down with a satisfied sigh and the sharp clatter of glass on polished wood.

            “Ain’t been goin’ out much, Gumbo.”

            Remy blinked, lifted his head enough to examine their reflection in the mirror behind the bar.  Then the space behind them.  All peaceful.

            “Oui.  Remy knows dat.  Ain’t wanted ta go out s’much.”

            Quiet.  Logan’s knee bumping against his leg slightly.  A smile.  The quiet was abandoned in favor of the idle chatter they were usually prone to when they spent their nights like this.

            And there was the weight, of eyes and attention, all focused on him.  It was unnerving, how much Logan was taking him in.

            Gambit wondered if this was how a rabbit feels when it finally realizes the fox is at hand.

            Remy didn’t give a damn.

            “You’re starin’.”  The smile stained his words as much as it stained his features.  He turned his head just enough to have his hair spilling over his shoulders.  Logan’s eyes followed the shifting gleam of colors only for a moment before those dark eyes focused on his face again.  Remy could feel them moving, glancing across his eyes, dancing over the angle of his cheekbones, following the line of his jaw, tracing the curve of his mouth in a way that was curious and yearning and shortened Remy’s breath ever so slightly.

            Logan gave a grunt that could serve just as well as a laugh.  “You’re the one who wanted me to stare, darlin’.”

            “Aww, ya noticed.”  Remy batted his eyes for a moment, and had to shove down the urge to giggle when Logan rolled his eyes.

            “You made it a point that I noticed,” Logan replied.  A slight sort of a grin was pulling at his features.  “I know you, Remy LeBeau.  You want me to look.”

            He let his red and black eyes fall half shut, slipping on the arrogant smirk that hadn’t fit right since the ice but that suddenly felt so much better suited now.  “Glad you’re takin’ notice, cher.  Wouldn’t want all dis go ta waste.”  He stretched himself out, lanky frame spilling out to put his whole body on display, tilted ever so slightly towards the feral at his side.  He tipped his chin up, haughty and daring. 

            He could feel Logan looking him over from head to toe, and it was enough to make him want to move, to escape the deadly weight.  He could almost feel the clothes being peeled off his skin–

            Logan polished off his drink and stood up.  “Come on,” he grated out, grabbing Remy by the arm and pulling him up after him.  He laughed, loving that almost weightless feeling of being moved around so easily.  For a second he wondered, and then made himself not wonder for fear of doing something brash with his thoughts so distracted.

            Logan shoved him towards the pool table without another word.  There was a challenge in his eyes; go ahead, they said, flirt away, gimme your best damn shot LeBeau.  Remy had to smirk again as he snatched up a cue and draped it over his shoulders similarly to how he would with his Bo staff.  Logan looked again, and he threw him a playful grin.

            “C’mon, cher,” he nearly purred, “let’s play.”

***

            Logan lost.  In every sense of the word.

            Remy tossed his coat off after his initial shot.  If he was going to play, he was going to give it his all.  He knew just what the jeans did for his figure, how all the dark colors made his skin damn near glow, matched his inhuman eyes, made his hair into almost a firebrand.  Logan had his weaknesses when it came to the people he was attracted to; long, red hair was one, a good body the other.  Maybe he was playing up as a one night stand.

            Remy LeBeau was a master at taking what he was given without complaint.

            Gambit was a master at taking what he wanted, though.

            Logan half-assed the pool game – which was something odd in and of itself, because the man didn’t half-ass anything as far as Remy knew.

            All stops pulled, Remy swung himself full into the game.  Dropped all the hindrances on his voice and let his ole N’Awlins accent walk de walk an’ talk de talk.  He took a minimum of a minute lining up each shot, bent over the table, long body curled and coiled with anticipation, fingers tenting on the green felt; when he made his shot, a smirking grin would leap onto his face, as if it were part of the system.

            When you kept your skin in one piece by throwing playing cards, you got pretty damn good at aiming.

            Logan would normally snap if Remy went easy on him, but the pool game was only on the surface.  It was one of the odder ways Remy has tried to seduce someone, but seduction was an art he was talented in.  He knows just how to lean and move to make sure Logan is watching him.  A few shots, and finally a miss.  Logan took his turn, usually sunk one, but not always.  Sometimes his eyes would waver, the pupils shivering as something inside him trembled and woke, and those shots were ruined entirely.

            Remy, with just one ball and the eight left, moved in for the kill.  But not before Logan’s eyes caught his – a clash of red against a myriad of colors.  His eyes were gold and jade, rimmed with a brown dark enough to be black; the bar lights always did funny things to the color of his eyes, but this angle made them sharp enough to cut the breath from Remy’s throat.

            They both knew Logan had lost.

***

            Somehow the thrill of the drive back only heightened the tension.

            Logan drove like a maniac when he could.  Remy supposed when one was indestructible, it was a wonderful thing to do.  For Remy, given the spitting snow and dark of night, he felt only a sick, swelling sense of wonder and excitement that was building in the pit of his stomach.  He caught his breath at every turn, and by the time they spun into the school’s drive, he was panting.  Somewhere along the line Logan had dropped a hand on his thigh, fingers digging into the flesh of his inner thigh; his touch would ghost higher and dig in deeper to his skin every time his breath caught.  His pants were too tight now, making him fidget and squirm and fight to take some shred of pressure off sensitive skin.

            They both bolted out of the jeep as soon as it was parked haphazardly in the garage.  Remy had the briefest impression of Logan’s eyes – fathomless and almost black, woven with gold threads – before teeth were biting under his jaw, right in that spot that made him gasp and shudder and moan and wonder just how Logan knew where to go.  He was shoved and pulled and almost carried out of the garage, up the stairs, down the hall.  He nearly fell at one point, feet tangling with Logan’s, and when he dragged himself in against all that tight heat that was rolling off of Logan, the feral gave a snarl that trembled through every inch of him and made Remy’s skin tingle in desperation.

            His back hit the door hard enough to make him cry out, but he swallowed the sound as quick as it came up.  Logan had every inch of himself pressed in against him, nipping and almost-kissing his skin.

            “This better be what you want, Remy.”

            “Oui, oui, s’il te plaît, Logan, je ne peux pas – _please_ –”

            Fingers tangling in his hair, lips dragging up to his.  He groaned in spite of himself, muffled against rough lips that forced his mouth open.  His body trembled, helpless, arms hooking around broad shoulders, dragging him somehow closer, _closer_ because this is not a _want_ anymore, this is as much a _need_ as breathing.

            The door caved away, banged shut behind Logan a second after.  Remy peeled himself off, slipping out of Logan’s grip.  He heard the snarl, threw out his hand as Logan stalked after him.  Traced the shape of his mouth with a kiss of his thumb.  Stepped back with his heart beating at the shreds of ice that still clung to it.  Held those wild eyes with his own as a liquid shrug slid his coat off his shoulders.

            He had Logan’s attention now, certainly.

            Barely breathing under the heavy weight of the feral’s gaze, Remy slid a hand up the planes of his stomach, chest, up to the first undone button.  He moved slow, dragging the moment out as he slid one button free, then two.  Slow, slow, even as his heart galloped and his fingers wanted to tremble, he moved slow.

            His fingers skimmed over the waist of his jeans, slow, contemplative.  He could hear Logan breathing, the hiss and staccato of it.  He had lost his eyes after just the first button, lost them in favor of that heavy gaze trailing after his fingers.  Wolverine was almost shaking with the force of restraining himself; Remy could taste his madness, his desire, on the tip of his tongue and it was almost enough to make him lose his mind.

            He moved forward with feline grace, pressing up against the quivering frame, noticing the jump and twitch of muscles on contact.  Remy breathed out a faint laugh, slipping his hands under the heavy leather jacket, brushing it off broad shoulders that rippled in sudden motion.

            And then Logan’s hands were everywhere, running rough over the bare skin of his chest, fisting in his shirt to peel it from his skin.  Remy pulled his arms free, fingers dancing across the smooth buttons of Logan’s flannel.  He jerked the shirt free, and the snarl that bled out of Logan made his blood boil.  There was no cold in him anymore; there was fire licking under his skin, hot enough to burn.

            The back of his knees hit the bed hard, and Remy felt himself falling.  He grabbed onto Logan, barely heard the gasp of laughter as they both fell.

            Remy could hardly complain.

            He gripped the white tank top Logan was still wearing, jerked it free from the tight waist of his jeans, tore it over his hair; he barely had a second to register just how sexy his hair looked all rumpled like before Logan was grinding into him and chasing any shred of rational thought from his mind.  A babble of Cajun patois stuttered from his lips, melted into a moan as teeth bit at his neck.

            “C’mon, Rems,” Logan purred, the sound scratchy and deep and right in his ear and oh _God_.  “Takin’ your time, aren’t you?”

            Remy pushed him back, squirmed backwards to make quick work of shedding the boots before he threw himself back at Logan.  He grabbed onto his belt buckle – the fucking buckle, why was it sexy, why was Logan so damned sexy, it should be criminal – and dragged him back down.  He hooked his legs around him, catching his mouth with his.  He could feel the hungry sound Logan made against his mouth as he pulled that damned belt off and threw it on the floor.

            “Cher,” he whispered between one kiss and the next.  “ _Logan_.”

            Logan’s teeth bit sharp at his mouth, shuddering him into silence.  Suckling and nibbling and lapping and exploring and every inch of Remy’s skin that was tight and tingling with the sheer wanting of it.  Rough hands running up his sides, tipping his head back, lips trailing down his throat and pausing to nip and suckle and bruise.  _Claiming_ , Logan was _claiming_ him, and Remy could only whimper at the electric bolts of agonizing pleasure that arced through him.  He hadn’t dared to think of this, of what would happen if he managed such a dangerous seduction, but he had no room to complain.  Logan seemed to know just how to unravel him in the slowest, sweetest torture.

            Fingers trailing across the waist of his jeans and he can’t even fucking _breathe_ past it, his focus narrowed to that one sensation.  His shields had fallen what felt like hours ago, and he could feel Logan’s humor buried in a thick red haze of ravenous desire that made Remy arch up into him.  Logan pushed him down, gentle, firm.  _I’m in charge_.

            And then his focus went sharp against the feel of Logan slowly, _slowly_ working the impossibly tight fit of those damnable jeans off his legs, taking all the sweet time in the world.  Curses tumbled off his tongue in a myriad of language, and Logan surged back up to attack his blessed mouth with bruising force.  His heavy fingers tangled in his hair and tugged – pulled – and Remy gasped and moaned and reared up to press against him.

            Logan’s fingers twisted, made themselves at home, anchored in auburn locks to tug and direct and lead.  His mouth moved with slow curiosity, mapping out the soft, swollen lips that he had so adamantly claimed.  Remy could have contented himself with the languorous and delectable exploration.

            But the fire in his veins wanted more and more and _more_.

            He worked a hand between them, traced his fingers over the taut muscles in Logan’s chest and stomach.  They fluttered and hitched under the contact, and Logan drew back only a little.

            “Remy,” he whispered, his voice full of wonder and worship.

            “Logan . . .”  He trailed off at the feathering kisses that skimmed over his mouth, tried to focus beyond the simple, complicated pleasures that dragged through him.  Remy’s hands trembled as he popped the button on Logan’s jeans, tugged down the zipper, dragged them off to bare all that tanned skin.  The bite of Logan’s teeth at his throat were enough to unravel him into another shaky moan and he had to wrap his arms around him and dig into all that heavy muscle to ground himself.  He was drowning in a sea of red red lusty red that was going to get him drunk.  He barely heard the jeans hit the floor; his mind had narrowed itself to the feel of Logan’s skin, hot and soft and dusted with crisp hairs that would have tickled in any other situation.  He was three hundred pounds of heat and want and everything that Remy had needed since that Goddamn ice, and “Mon Dieu, just _fuck me_ already, won’t you?”

            A sound of rust and silk vibrated out of Logan’s chest, like the purr of a cat as he started to trail down his torso.  Remy’s muscles jerked under the graces of his lips and teeth and tongue.  His hips bucked up only once before Logan pinned them down with one hand and just enough pressure.  Remy had lapsed into a hoarse, whispering litany of nonsense in his bastardized French, and even that failed him as Logan nuzzled at the inside of his thigh.  He wove his fingers through his dark hair, forgetting for a second to breathe as Logan dragged his tongue oh so slow from the base of his cock all the way to the tip and _oh God_ he ain’t new to this game.

            He tried to rock up into him, to drive into that wickedly grinning mouth.  Logan held him down with ease, teasing at him, just barely taking him in before releasing him.  Remy’s fingers twitched and curled through his hair, clinging, pushing and pulling at him with hopeless desperation.  For a second, he was sure Logan would fight him.

            And then, oh God, and then his world was shattering apart at the feel of that dangerous mouth taking him in and in and Christ he’s _good_ at it, it isn’t hardly _fair_.  Remy twisted his hands in the sheets, shaking as he bit back all the sounds that tried to unravel from his throat.  He couldn’t think beyond the thick want in the air, the fire raging just under his skin, the ice falling out of his chest, and Logan Logan _Logan_ –

            Something like a sob cracked from his throat when Logan drew his mouth back.  It was only a split second before Remy was being pulled into another bruising, aching kiss; the probing exploration of Logan’s tongue made the black behind his eyes erupt with stars, made his body shudder and tense.  And that too ended far too soon; he dug his fingers into Logan’s muscles, clinging desperately.  The man was as close to falling to pieces as himself, shaking as he traced his fingers over the planes of Remy’s face.

            “Cher,” Remy whined, fingers digging into his skin, “please, Logan, I _need_ –”

            “I’m not going to hurt you,” Logan replied, his voice dark and thick and hot against his skin.  He leaned his forehead against Remy’s, trembling against him.  “I won’t.  I can’t.”

            Remy shuddered, turning his head to trace kisses along his jaw.  Logan drew back, one hand stretching out to the bedside table.  Remy could feel the darkness pressing against his burning skin, caressing the fire roaring through his veins.  No more ice; no more winter.  His heart was racing, blooming with wildflowers and want.

            He trailed his hands along the sculpted muscles of Logan’s abs, eyes half shut as he trailed lower, lower, traced the lines of his hips, relished the sharp gasp and the way he jumped as his hand wrapped around hard, hot flesh.  A long, lazy stroke, taunting; Remy could take, and Remy could give, whatever he wanted, whatever at all.

            “Gonna drive me up a wall if you ain’t careful,” Logan hissed out as he finally snatched what he wanted.

            “Dat’s de point, cher.  Ya gonna take your sweet time, den . . .”  He dragged out another touch, twisting and dragging out something almost like a moan out of Logan, something he bit back with near desperation.  Remy couldn’t help but grin to himself as he ran his hand back up his chest to wrap his fingers around his neck.

            “If–”

            Remy dragged his fingers over his mouth, cutting the feral into silence.  He gave a slight nod.  He knew the man; he knew the request.  He had no intention of telling him to stop, no matter how awful or wonderful it felt.

            And then the fire in him sparked and jumped and roared through every inch of him; it didn’t matter if it was just fingers, it was the promise of what would follow that had him dropping his hands to the bed and fisting the sheets in mad desperation.  He grit his teeth, squirmed against the careful stretch and burn inside him.  Logan’s voice came to him, a mutter of nonsense followed by the feel of his mouth light against the tightness of his stomach.  The flash of teeth drew a shuddering whine from his throat, and he twisted his fingers in his hair, pulled at him.

            Logan nuzzled at his thigh, coaxing his legs wider before he settled in between them.  Remy could see him in the dark, grinning that little crooked grin that was all trouble and wanton risk.  Hands braced on either side of his head, lips found the pulse in his throat and tongue dragged across it.  And then there was only tight heat and a shock of pleasure that made the red haze of desire go white.  Remy arched up into him, legs hooking around him to pull him in deeper, and he could just hear a sound slip out of Logan before his head collapsed on his shoulder and he buried himself in the crook of his neck.

            Neither moved for a moment, merely breathing each other in.  Logan’s caution and care was endearing . . . but just as infuriating when Remy was already so worked up.  Impatience licked at his nerves and he shifted and rolled his whole body under him.  Logan made a slight sound as they pulled deeper together, took a breath as if to tell him something.  But his fingers only twisted deep in his hair as he drowned himself against him.

            Remy could feel him, everything about him; every inch of his skin and all of the hundreds of emotions that flitted through him in quick succession.  He tipped his head back, welcoming the way Logan nuzzled into him and bit and lapped at his bared skin, reveling in every sensation.  Pinned between a soft, giving mattress and three hundred immovable pounds of dark red desire.

            This time Logan was the one to shift in deeper, and Remy gave a startled hiss, dug his fingers into strong biceps.  He could feel Logan’s mouth moving against his ear, but the words never reached him.  He was lost in a sea of ice, a burning wilderness, trapped in his own burning skin.

            Logan rocked out . . . and in . . . and out, and in.  Slow, tender; the desperate rush from before sated for the time being.  The night was not young, but it was long enough to live the moment out as full as possible.  Give and take; Logan drove into him, and Remy arched up into him in turn.  Lips and teeth worked against sweaty skin, starved and demanding.  The pace quickened, the movements deepened; Remy clutched against him, anchored, arms and legs tight around all the heat and rippling muscle.

            Logan’s lips found his again, kissed him slow and sweet.  Remy could feel the smile on his mouth, opened his eyes the slightest amount.

            “I missed you.”

            Remy whined faintly, snapped his hips up to goad him faster.  He dragged Logan down to him, eyes sparking in the dark, grinning with a Devil’s wanton risk.  “Den show me,” he rasped out, voice thick and rough with sex.

            Logan growled, the sound rippling from his chest into Remy’s skin.  The tension drew into him, rocketed out in a deep, hard thrust that had Remy arching and moaning as it hit just right against him.  One after another, perfect and unraveling him.

            “How’s that?” Logan growled out, an edge of playfulness softening the sharpness of lust.  “Say somethin’ now, darlin’, I dare you.”

            Remy dragged him into a hard, sloppy kiss, grinning against him.  “Underestimatin’ me–”  He had to shove the words out of himself, grating and harsh.  “Mon Dieu, cher – Allez, Logan _, donne-le-moi,_ tu peux faire mieux que ça!”

            “You and that mouth,” he hissed out, but he was quick to oblige.  He bit at the column of his throat, nearly drawing blood.  Remy let out a sigh of nonsense, his body curving into him.  He was burning, unraveling, thrusting back into him.  Logan had him mapped, memorized, knew every move that ratcheted the arousal higher and higher.

            “Logan I _can’t_ for – I _can’t_ hold–”  Remy thrashed under him, skin too tight, too hot; he needed to come or he was going to lose his mind.

            “So don’t.”  It was something like a shaken purr from his lover, his lips mouthing at his skin.  And Logan gave a hard, deep thrust, bit behind his ear, pulled on his hair enough to drag Remy’s head back, and the world shattered into a kaleidoscope of red.  Remy gave a hoarse cry as his whole body snapped taut.  He grabbed onto Logan tight, dragged him over the edge of bliss with him.

            When his head cleared of the haze, it was to find Logan shaking, weight braced on hands splayed out either side of him, face buried in the curve of his neck.  Remy tried to unwrap his limbs from him, but found himself only settling him closer.  Logan lifted his head, eyes half shut and unfocused in the slants of silver spilling through the drawn blinds.

            Remy drew his fingers slow through Logan’s hair, pushing dark strands off his brow.  Logan bent down, purring as he nuzzled at the familiar planes of Remy’s face, finally found his bruised and swollen mouth with his, kissed him slow and sweet.  The feral was boneless and soft, finally drawing out of him and swallowing the protesting whine that spilled out of Remy’s mouth.  And then Logan was mouthing and kissing and biting down over his body, down to his stomach where his come had spilled over his skin.  Logan slid a lazy glance up to Remy before lapping some of it up.  Remy hissed, fisted the rumpled, twisted sheets.

            “Christ, you’re good,” Logan finally murmured.  He pulled up some of the sheet, wiped off most of the residue from them both.

            “Remy could say quite de same fo’ you,” he drawled in reply.  “Ain’t had anyt’in’ like dat fo’ . . .”

            “Don’t,” Logan coaxed, his voice a low rumble in the dark.  His arms scooped under Remy, shifted him a little before pulling the rumpled covers back.  “Now c’mere.”

            “Ya gonna cuddle wit’ me now?” Remy asked with a lopsided grin.  He didn’t wait for the other man to reply or change his mind, settling in against his warm body.  The rumbling chuckle shuddered into him, making a shiver of arousal spark back through his body.

            Logan’s arms settled around him, pulled him closer against all the heat in his skin.  “Just get some rest,” he urged, dragging the covers up over them both.  “I’m here.”

            Remy settled his arms around Logan, tucking his head under his chin and folding himself into the planes and hollows of his body.  He was worn out, physically and emotionally, and Logan was so warm and comfortable.  He pressed a soft kiss against the man’s pulse.

            And before he fell asleep, he took a breath and dared to whisper one last thing: “Amour, mon amour, ne me laisse pas . . .”

            And perhaps he did not imagine the murmured reply.

            “ _I never will_.”

***

            Remy could have lain there for hours, just watching Logan sleep.  He was not perfectly peaceful – the man never would be – but he was calm.  There was an odd sort of beauty about him, like a tiger in repose; power and wildness at bay in favor of lounging in the sun spilling through the blinds in golden shafts.

            He wanted to watch him wake up, just this once.  He could take off after if that was what Logan wanted.  Neither of them did well with long term; he had gone into the game knowing there was every chance that all he would get was one night and a necessary friendship turned painfully awkward.  Remy loved a good game of chance, and while he (practically) never lost at poker, the games of chance in life were not always so well done.

            Logan shifted, his brow furrowing as he pushed his face into the softness of the pillow.  Remy could just see one of his eyes as it opened just a little, a soft green graced in shadows.  Logan’s whole body gave a slow stretch, uncoiling and spilling out until muscles trembled.  He raised his head finally, all mused hair and sleepy smile.  Remy opened his mouth, planning to ask if he should go, certain that he would say something stupid and make things all the worse.

            Logan leaned down to him, kissed him just the way he liked it:  slow, tender, suckling softly on his bottom lip.  Remy tangled his arms around powerful shoulders, pulling himself up against him until he was certain Logan could feel the slam of his heart against his skin.

            “You stayed,” Logan murmured against his lips.

            Remy pushed him back slightly, just enough to breathe, to think past all the warmth and want and arousal that was already started to brush tongues of fire back into his blood.  He had to think on those words, had to measure and weigh them.

            _You stayed_.

            Maybe staying hadn’t ruined their friendship; maybe the sex hadn’t either.  Maybe . . .

            “Oui,” he finally said, propping himself up on one elbow.  “Remy stayed.”

            That rumbling purr slipped like liquid out of Logan, wrapped itself tight around Remy’s heart.  Logan’s chin propped on his shoulder, arms finding their way tight around him.  “And is Remy gonna stay a while longer?”

            He found himself smiling, turning into Logan’s warmth.  It was no surprise that Logan pulled him back down into the warmth of the sheets.  Remy tucked his head under his chin, pausing to feather a few kisses across his neck before finally replying: “T’ink he could do dat.  If you’re sure dat’s what ya want, cher.”

            Logan’s arms tightened around him, and it was answer enough.

***

            Home is not always a place.  Sometimes, home is a person.

            Logan was home.  The way his eyes sparked and burned every time they skipped over to find Remy; the way his whole body turned to him; the way he moved into all the little touches Remy found every excuse to light upon him.  The way he leaned into him when they watched the TV, the thoughtless sharing of a drink or food.  The fact that he didn’t give a damn what anyone was thinking or saying about them.

            It had been barely more than a week since they’d hooked up in . . . well, whatever their relationship was now.  Remy was in deep, tangled and twisted in a web of desire and joy and ardor.  Logan was tangled up in it all, too; all that lusty red of the first night had softened out with a myriad of other shades of emotion.  It was everything Remy had dreamed of, and everything he had thought for a long time could simply never be his.

            But he was scared.  Remy wanted long term, but he knew Logan avoided it like the plague.  Remy couldn’t blame the man, not when he had experienced his own dose of love and loss and knew just how much it hurt.  And that was nothing compared to the level Logan had experienced.  But surely telling him how he felt couldn’t do any harm.  Right?

            Right . . .

            The cold of late winter bit at him hard as he stepped outside into the blinding world of white.  Vertigo and déjà vu swept over him.  The ice may have melted inside him, but he could never forget it.  His body was locked, horror struck by the endless, fathomless white blinding him.  Remy screwed his eyes shut, grit his teeth until the queasy feeling seeped out of him.

            He fumbled at one of the countless pockets of his coat, fishing out a pack of cigarettes.  He hadn’t smoked as much since the ice, but like all his old habits, it was coming back.  He lurked in the doorway, shivering as he peered through wafts of smoke and drifting skirls of fine snow.  Finally gathered a little courage to slink out a few steps into the open.

            His legs locked up after a couple of steps, and Remy stood stiff legged and tense.  He finally jerked a cigarette from the pack, stuffing it between his lips with jittering fingers.  His mutation had a few uses; lighting a smoke was one, but with the way he was shaking, it took almost two minutes to accomplish.

            The burn of smoke in his lungs dragged him out of the shrieking horror of his mind.  He held onto the feeling as long as he could before tipping his head up and blowing the smoke out in a slow cloud.  Staring up was easier than staring out or down; the sky was not white, but rather a pale blue.  He could see the sparkle of sun on snow in his peripheral vision, and while he once had known how to appreciate its beauty, he was not so sure that he could now.

            It was madness, but he stayed where he was.  He dragged his way slowly through the cigarette, waiting, and waiting, and waiting.

            His ears finally caught the sound of footsteps crunching through the snow, and he turned his head back down.  Logan stopped, a step or two away from him; snow dusted and laden down with a good armful of firewood, he looked right at home in all the cold.

            “What are you doin’ out here?”

            Remy smiled, tapped off the ash tail on his cigarette.  He wondered if his expression was as strained as he felt it was.  “Wanted ta talk wit’ ya.”

             A heavy pall of wariness draped itself around Logan; he could read the other man’s body language, and it was enough to set him on edge.  “Talk about what?” he asked as he circled around him.  A tight circle, tight enough that Remy turned to follow him, brushed the bare pad of his thumb against Logan’s cheek.  The tension hanging around him like a cloud lessened; Remy was even gifted with a small grin.

            “Ain’t somet’in’ dat’s gotta be bad, cher,” Remy said as he fell in step beside him.  “I just . . . I need ya ta know what dis, you an’ me, means ta me.”

            “Okay.”  Logan bounded up the stairs to the front door of the school and dropped off the wood.  Remy hung behind, arms around himself to try and somehow ward off the cold.  When Logan turned back to him, his expression was one of confusion.  He didn’t ask, simply walked back down the stairs and shuffled close to him.  Remy could feel the warmth radiating off of him, and he leaned close to him to try and soak some of it up.  He wondered if Logan understood.  Rogue ruined ice; Logan had the power to ruin snow if he so chose.

            “I know ya ain’t a big fan a long term relationships,” Remy blurted out, shoving snow-dusted hair back from his face.  “Hell, I ain’t got a clue if I can do long term anymore, been so long since I tried.  But I ain’t here for dat.  I can’t jus’ take dis fo’ a couple months an’ den ya leave me behind, it’ll . . . it’ll . . .”  He shook his head, raising a hand to push his fingers against his tight shut eyes.  “I jus’ can’t do dat, cher.  You’re all de home I got anymore.  Ain’t got N’Awlins.  Ain’t got dis place.  Jus’ got you.  I don’t want ya ta leave me, but I’ll understand if ya gotta.  Don’ wanna make ya hurt, amour, dat ain’t ever what I wanted.”

            Logan wrapped an arm around his waist, loose, coaxing the taller man close.  “Not gonna just up and run out on ya, Rems,” he sighed out, the words a white cloud of breath.  His fingers dragged through Remy’s hair, twisted and tugged in gentle gestures that made Remy’s heart skip and stutter.  “I care about you.  I was lost without you.  I can’t do that again.”

            “All dese broken parts ‘tween you an’ me, cher,” Remy sighed out as he folded in close to him, dropped his arms around his shoulders.  “And somehow dey fit jus’ so, dat we can get dis close.”

            “Closer,” Logan amended, his head tipping up to nuzzle into his neck.  His lips and teeth and tongue teased across the throb of Remy’s pulse, with just enough pain to hitch his breath and shudder him closer.  The fire surged up from banked embers, rushing through his blood.  Rushing other places that made him want to drag Logan back inside and somewhere at least a little private.

            Remy turned his head, bringing his hands up to peel Logan away from his skin.  He knew he wasn’t imagining the slight whine that fell off that talented mouth, nor was he imagining the taste of smoke and whiskey as he slanted a delicate kiss to his lips.  “Closer,” Remy whispered back, mouth moving across his.  “Close as we can get.”

            Logan gave off a brief purring sound before he was devouring him with an open-mouthed kiss; hard, hot, heavy, raging up the fire higher.  Remy pressed closer, held tighter, than he had ever dared to with anyone before.  The last shards of ice were gone from his chest, and the tightness it had left had dissipated to nothing.

            Remy LeBeau was in love.  And there was the promise of more – so much more – to come of it all.


End file.
